CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Transjump completed, Prince Thrakhath stood up, expectant. A tremor of excitement coursed through him. Involuntarily his talons extended and he felt saliva filling his mouth. He waited, heart racing as the jump point confirmation flashed across the main screen of the battle bridge. Optical scanners swept space and then finally locked on to what the Prince was seeking. Magnification and computer enhancements kicked in and the image zoomed in, expanding.

Earth floated in the middle of the screen. A growl of triumphal shouts echoed on the battle bridge, a total breakdown of discipline that he was willing, at least this once, to ignore and forgive, as his own howl of triumph mingled in with that of his crew.

"Signal the fleet on an open channel, Thrakhath roared and his communications officer opened the line.

"Today we shall watch Earth burn. Long live the Emperor and the Empire. Standard battle formation, advance full speed ahead!"

"They're starting to advance," Duke Grecko said quietly.

Geoff Tolwyn said nothing, intently studying the long range tactical display, as the information was relayed in by a line of picket ships pulling back ahead of the Imperial Fleet.

The advance came straight on with a defiant certainty. There was no elaborate maneuvering, no attempts at tactical ploys. The Kilrathi main battle fleet came on in a solid mass, arrogant in its overwhelming power.

"I'd better get to my ship," Duke said.

"Your tactical plan is suicidal, Duke. Ship-to-ship fighting isn't a Marine job. Leave it to the fleet. And by God, Duke, boarding is something straight out of Nelson and Trafalgar."

"I'll be damned if we're sitting this fight out, so don't argue with me about it."

Geoff looked over at him, smiled, and took his old friend's hand.

"All right, it just might work. But you know, Duke, the proper place for the Head of Joint Chiefs is back at headquarters on Earth."

Duke sniffed angrily.

"Look, Geoff. Up until they decided to make me a hero after Vukar I was a line officer. Being in command of the whole show was never my plan. I'll be damned if I hide in a bunker while my grunts are fighting for survival. Anyhow, I've always wanted to lead a battle like this."

"Leading men in a desperate battle, against impossible odds?" Tolwyn said with a smile. "What are you, the reincarnation of Patton?"

"Don't let anyone in on the secret, Geoff"

"Take care, Duke."

"God speed and good hunting, Geoff. I'll see you at sundown."

Geoff laughed softly and walked his commander off the bridge and down the corridor to the starboard launch bay. Fighters were lined up down the length of the deck, crews going over last minute checks, armament teams finishing up loading, and repair crews off to one side, struggling to salvage and bring back into the fight craft damaged in the Battle of Sirius.

A Marine landing craft was on the launch line, pilots standing by the open door, talking with the launch officer. At the sight of Grecko approaching they stiffened, came to attention and saluted.

"At ease, boys. Fire the engine up and let's get to work."

Geoff saluted Duke, who looked back at him and smiled.

"Give them hell, Geoff," and then he was gone, the entry hatch closing behind him and snicking shut.

Geoff stood back from the launch line as the deck launch officer stepped up forward and beside the Marine landing craft. She held her hand to her ear protectors, waiting to hear from the senior launch officer that Marine 1 was cleared. She saluted the pilot when word of clearance was passed, crouched down and pointed forward. The landing craft started forward, clearing the airlock, then kicked on full afterburners and, turning to starboard, disappeared.

Thirty million clicks beyond the airlock Mars hovered in the darkness, a bright point of red light. Thin lines of reflected silver light moved past the airlock, hundreds of light civilian ships heading outward, with several hundred Marine landing craft moving in the middle of the formation.

Geoff felt sick at heart watching them and turned heading back up the corridor. He was already late for the final briefing and he moved purposefully down the main corridor into the pilot quarters and ready room.

"Attention!"

Geoff came into the ready room, his features set, and reached the lectern. He looked out at his pilots.

Nearly half the faces were new, many of them cadets pulled straight out of the Academy to replace the losses from Sirius.

God, we're sending children out now.

"At ease. Be seated."

"I'll keep this short, we don't have much time. You'll be pleased to know that Lexington has just cleared dry dock, carrying fifty-seven fighters. That'll give us five fleet carriers for this action."

Actually he knew it was almost meaningless. Lexington was coming up with just a little more than half her complement and running on secondary reactor power only. It was nothing more than bait, moving ahead of Concordia, Saratoga, Ark Royal and Leyte Gulf. With three hundred additional fighters sortied up from Mars and Earth orbital bases, there'd be just over six hundred fighters, half of them with green crews who'd never seen action beyond a flight simulator.

"You know your missions. Blue Three, you're flying Combat Air Patrol over the carriers. Blue Two, you're escorting in the Broadswords."

He could see Blue Three was less than amused, getting stuck in a purely defensive role. Blue Two knew what was going to happen to her but didn't display a flicker of emotion. The Kilrathi would turn their full fury on the Broadswords and Sabres, and with less than eighty making up the strike and eighty escorts, the chances of any of them coming back was nil.

He hesitated for a second.

"Blue One, you have the second strike escort slot. It's going to be grim. You have to remember what the final objective is, and remember that they're all volunteers out there."

His nephew looked up at him and forced a smile. Geoff paused and looked over at the tactical display flickering in the briefing room's holo.

The Kilrathi Fleet was still staying together, coming straight in at a range of twenty million clicks and closing. Thanks to simple orbital mechanics, Mars was the closest planet to the jump point, with Earth seventy million clicks behind it

The huge colonies on the moons of Saturn and Jupiter were on the far side of the system. The only settlement areas now being over run were in the asteroid belt and had already been abandoned.

"Pilots, man your planes," Geoff said quietly and he saluted first as they came back to their feet.

The pilots and crews stormed out of the room. The usual banter and bravado was gone today. They were silent, some obviously frightened, all of them filled with a grim determination. He felt he could have made a bit more of an emotional appeal, but knew that was nothing but crap. Everyone of them knew that this was no ordinary battle. If this one was lost the Kilrathi would be above Earth within hours.

Kevin came past him, helmet tucked under his arm. His nephew slowed, looking at him out of the comer of his eye.

The hell with protocol, Geoff thought as he stepped forward and put his hands on Kevin's shoulders.

"I've never been prouder of you, Kev. Now take care of yourself."

Kevin looked at him, his eyes bright.

"It's an honor to be with you today, sir," he said, trying to control the tremor in his voice. Geoff let go of him and the boy followed the stream of pilots out the door.

"Launch all fighters. Let us finish this hunt."

Prince Thrakhath turned away from the screen, a tingle of excitement coursing through him as the fighter launch klaxon sounded through the ship.

Before him stood the Baron.

"You do not look thrilled about our impending victory, Baron."

Baron Jukaga merely snarled, looking at the Prince defiantly.

"I have one final little assignment for you, Baron."

"Go on then, what is it?"

And as Thrakhath told him the Baron's eyes went wide with shock and rage.

"It is useless, senseless. The Emperor ordered you to preserve the planet for the next Sivar."

"There are a hundred other worlds to choose from once this is done. A squad of Imperial Marines will now escort you to your ship, Baron."

Baron Jukaga looked coldly at the Prince and then spat on the floor.

Prince Thrakhath merely laughed in reply as Baron Jukaga was escorted from the room.

"My lord, there are significantly more ships than intelligence indicated."

Thrakhath looked back at the main screen and ordered the forward picket ships to send back enhanced optical scan. He waited for the visuals to be returned, watching the display of the two fleets being deployed. More and more blips of enemy ships were appearing, moving out from behind other ships which had been masking them. He had his suspicions as to what the new ships were and did not feel overly worried. One of the advantages of having had an embassy team on Earth was the ability to conduct reconnaissance. It was made even better by the fact that their own Foreign Minister had become a traitor. Too bad she was under arrest.

"They're civilian ships, my lord. Numerous light craft, personal ships, light business ships of corvette size, shuttle craft, and civilian interplanet transports."

Thrakhath nodded.

"They're throwing everything in as a screen to waste our weapons on. Order the outer wave of fighters to ignore them and to concentrate on the incoming Broadswords and Sabres. Once their offensive capability has been smashed we can turn our attention to this chaff they throw out and destroy them."

"We're also detecting Marine assault and landing ships, my lord."

Thrakhath stirred, ordering that this new sighting be highlighted on the main display. Several hundred of the blips started to blink bright yellow.

What were they up to?

"A diversionary effort, my lord?"

He looked over at his chief tactical officer.

He still had over seventeen hundred fighters at his disposal, almost all of them already launched and moving towards position. The first offensive strike wave was already committed, four hundred strike craft moving out past the outer line of picket ships with four eights of corvettes and light frigates in escort. Long range Confederation patrols were already moving to intercept, a pitiful six eights of fighters.

He was holding back over a thousand craft, assuming a more defensive posture than in the last battle. One of his carriers was gone, another slightly damaged. He would absorb and totally destroy the offensive strike, eliminating the final threat. Then he would smash through with a totally annihilating second strike, smashing whatever was left of the enemy fleet. They could no longer retreat and regroup, they would have to stand and die.

But the Marines? What were they for? To draw fire, obviously, while the last of the Broadswords went in.

"Still concentrate on the Broadswords," he said. "Then we slaughter the rest."

Kevin tried to purge the anguish, to block it out. His friends, his comrades were dying. Flickers of light filled space straight ahead and to starboard a hundred and fifty clicks away. The Broadsword strike was going in. His tactical screen traced the attack. The first wave of Broadswords, what few were left, was slowing, hovering. Going through the agonizing thirty second countdown to launch. And one after another their transponders winked off, the blue blips replaced by brief flashes of light and then disappearing.

He switched to strike two's main comm channel.

"Ten seconds, nine, keep them off, keep them off. . ."

"I can't eject, I can't get out, oh God I'm burning . . ."

"Six on your tail, Maria, break, break . . ."

"Yellow three, torpedo lock failed, am . . ."

The signals became fewer, space ahead flashing with hundreds of points of light.

The second wave, going towards the carriers, was straight ahead, slashing into the storm of defense. A hundred Kilrathi fighters were now hitting into his own attack column and ships were dying, but the main blow had not hit yet.

"Blue One, we've got company coming."

Kevin tore his attention away from the dying attack and saw a wave of fifty fighters coming in from above and slashing into the column behind him. He held course, looking over his shoulder.

Nearly a thousand craft were spread out around him. Off his port quarter he saw a civilian transplanet liner trying an evasive and disappear in an explosion after a single burst of neutron bolts from a light fighter.

It was suicide and he had to harden his heart to the realization that was precisely what the pilots flying the civilian craft had signed on for. They were nothing more than sitting ducks, unshielded, totally defenseless. Having been given pressure suits and rescue transponders, the pilots were told to bail out if things got too hot. But they were serving their purpose. The first waves of Kilrathi fighters, wading into the hundreds of targets, had become drunk with the thrill of killing. He watched as a flight of Krants shot right through a line of Marine transports, not even bothering to fire, racing ahead to smash a cruiser size liner, a dozen fighters tearing into the defenseless ship until it split apart. And each fighter that took thirty seconds to line up and fire on a useless ship was one less fighter engaged in the real fight, while the hidden weapon drew even closer.

"My lord, we might have a tactical analysis on what they are doing."

Thrakhath looked over at his tactical officer.

Even as the officer started to offer his analysis the truth of what he was saying sunk in.

All fighters strike them now! Strike them now. Order all carriers into full evasive!"

"Here we go! All ships pick your targets. If you can't get to a carrier, nail a cruiser. Charge!"

General Duke Grecko leaned forward, looking over the shoulder of his assault craft pilot. A recorded charge blared on the assault craft's loud speaker and Grecko grinned with delight.

Behind him, in the aft personnel bay, a hundred assault troops cheered, thumping the butts of their laser rifles on the floor of the ship.

Space around him was pure chaos. Hundreds of Kilrathi fighters were swarming in, escort ships moving to intersect the attack. Dozens of ships and assault craft were vaporizing every second in the slaughter, so that he thought for an instant that his plan was exactly what Geoff, and for that matter everyone else from the President on down, had declared it to be: pure suicide.

The only advantage he could now see in being head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was that he didn't have to convince anyone — he simply had to give the order, and then go.

A civilian liner twisted in front of him, blocking the rush of three incoming Dralthi, diverting their shots. His own pilot dived under the liner as it exploded and then lined back up on their target.

"The carrier, go for the carrier!"

"We'll never make it. Let's nail the destroyer to port!"

"Damn it, son, I'm the general here. Anything less than a carrier is an insult, now move it!"

Kevin weaved his way through the melee, moving up to protect an assault wave of twenty Marine landing craft, a full brigade of troops packed inside. They were breaking through.

A Kilrathi destroyer was moving in towards the group and he saw three of the landing craft turn towards the destroyer. The destroyers defensive batteries nailed two. The third closed in, letting loose with its ground bombardment armaments which leaped across space, exploding across the bow of the enemy ship. The rounds were designed for area suppression, not shield and hull penetration, but they nevertheless blinded the ship. The landing craft swung across the top side of the destroyer, matching speed and then slammed down on its main cargo hatch. Explosive shape charges mounted to the bottom of the landing craft detonated, blowing the destroyer's main access hatch open.

The landing craft edged forward, gaining magnetic lock on the destroyer's hull. No matter what the ship now did as evasive, the Marine assault craft was glued to its side like a lamprey eel on the side of a fish — and it was just as deadly.

The back hatch of the landing craft blew open and assault troops streamed out, wearing magnetic-soled shoes and swarmed in through the ruptured cargo door, firing RPGs, miniguns, and assault recoilless flechette launchers.

Kevin shot past the destroyer.

The damn plan just might work!

The seventeen assault ships ahead pressed in, Kevin now riding herd above them. He tried to ignore everything else: the hundreds of ships fighting and dying around him, the total chaos, as all tactical formations were lost. Kilrathi fighters, now fully committed to this new threat, swarmed in, space so thick with them that he witnessed half a dozen collisions between turning fighters, their own ships, and Confederation craft.

Five of the Marine ships disappeared a full battalion of five hundred men winking out of existence. In any other situation their loss would have been viewed as a disaster. Here, with the final desperate defense of Earth, it was the mere incident of a second's time. Three Jalthi turned in on the group, ignoring Kevin. He slashed two out of existence, while the third took out three landing craft and then broke hard down and to the left, disappearing.

The Marine craft pressed on in, dodging past a lumbering cruiser, with the lead landing craft pushing up and over.

"Come on, take it, just take it before you're all killed," Kevin thought, wanting to scream at the assault unit's commander. The cruiser fell astern, taking out three more craft as they shot past, with a mass driver burst shutting down his own aft shields and slicing deep into his armor. Six craft were left and then he saw the target straight ahead as he looked up after dispatching yet another fighter — a Kilrathi heavy carrier turning in evasive.

The carrier, with a mix of twenty civilian and assault ships behind it, was going through a slow, ponderous turn, its aft, top, and bottom batteries all engaged, slaughtering their pursuers. Within seconds the twenty ships were gone.

They were racing straight in on the carrier. The six craft he was escorting opened fire, sixty area suppression bombardment missiles blanketing the ship's bow.

"Fighter following me, we're going for their topside forward bay, match speed and give us suppressive!"

Startled, Kevin looked at his comm screen. It was Duke Grecko on a laser link line.

The order was insane and yet he followed it. He leaped ahead of the six landing craft, even as two more of them exploded, then slammed in reverse thrusters, coming to a dead stop fifty meters in front of the launch bay.

Kevin toggled through every weapon he still had, dumping out IFFs, dumb fire and then mass drivers. The spread exploded across the airlock bay, which shimmered and glowed red, part of the concentrated blast kicking through the shielding, blowing apart a mass driver turret above the bay. Two landing craft came streaking past and headed in. An explosion rocked his ship, spinning it over in a cartwheeling pivot away from the carrier. A quick scan of his instruments told him the worst and he reached down between his legs, grabbed hold of the ejector ring, and pulled.

"Switch IFF transponders now!" Grecko roared.

The pilot flipped the switch to the preprogrammed Kilrathi IFF, which intelligence claimed would get them through the airlock if they activated it at the last second before the deck officer could toggle the channel to a different frequency.

He closed his eyes as they hit the field. If intelligence was off, the landing craft would not be able to handle the head-on collision and would vaporize on the shield.

An explosion rocked the ship and he was slammed forward by a jarring blow. He opened his eyes. They were skidding down the length of the flight deck, the Kilrathi launch crew scattering in every direction.

"Blow rear hatch!"

The rear hatch swung open even as the landing craft continued to skid down the deck in a shower of sparks.

Duke, unbuckled from his jump seat, stood up clenching a laser gun and started for the rear.

"Let's kick ass!" he roared

The Marines closest to the hatch were already up, leaping out the door, rolling on the deck coming up and firing. Grecko hit the back edge and jumped, deliberately rolling on to his new artificial arm which could take the blow better. Gaining his feet he nailed a furball pilot coming at him with a drawn pistol, cutting him in half, then dropped a ground crew coming out from under a Krant.

The landing craft skidded to a stop and Duke raced towards it. He looked back at his other landing craft. It was on its side, burning, survivors struggling out from the wreckage.

"Get that mine out now! First platoon with me on the advance. Second platoon knock out their launch bridge and secure a perimeter, then help any survivors from the other landing craft. Third platoon escort the demolitions team."

Duke looked around, trying to figure out where to go next. Intelligence had never said anything about the internal layout of the ship. But then again, what the hell did intelligence know about these damn ships anyhow, other than that they were big? The only plan they had was to board and then get as deep into the ship as possible.

He saw an oversized door. Hell, they were all oversized given the size of the Cats. Flight deck personnel were fleeing through it and it looked as good as any.

"First platoon, let's go!"

He raced for the door, firing as he advanced, dropping Cats, their bodies piled up at the entryway. He hit the corridor, started to step in, and then ducked back from a flurry of laser shots. Two of his Marines leaned in, firing a suppressive spray while a third held up a minigun. The explosive roar of the gun drowned out all other sound, filling the corridor with fire, smoke, and a hundred rounds a second. Another Marine threw a concussion grenade in; it detonated and they waded through. Each door that they passed was kicked open and a grenade dropped in.

They reached the end of the corridor which broke into an intersection of four hallways radiating outward.

"We have to get down, damn it, into the guts of the ship!"

He sent sections running up each of the corridors and thirty seconds later a runner came back.

"Access hatch to lower levels, sir, this way."

"First section, first squad, secure this point. Get the demo team up here and move them in after us."

He looked back at the rest of his team.

"I'm getting too old for this crap," he grinned. "Come on, let's go!"

"My lord, they've boarded the ship through the topside launch bay!"

Stunned, Prince Thrakhath looked over at the ship security officer.

It was madness, absolute madness. And brilliant. Why could he have not seen that in desperation this would be a final tactic?

"How many Imperial Marine guards are on board?"

"A security detachment of fifty, my lord, not counting your own security squad."

"Where are they heading?"

The security chief toggled through a schematic of the ship and traced out a line.

"They're moving down into the second level already. Reports are sketchy."

"They're going to set mines and blow them," Thrakhath said coldly and he looked over at his damage control officer.

"What can they do?"

The damage control officer looked at him wide-eyed.

"All our calculations of damage containment were based upon external torpedo and missile strikes. Our armor is layered, through several sectors of the ship, strongest outside, with two internal belts. Into the core there's no armor at all, my lord."

He paused.

"If they blow a demolition charge in the middle of the ship, the armor will actually act to contain it, making the damage far worse." He swallowed hard. "It'll destroy the ship, my lord."

Prince Thrakhath roared with anger, slamming his fist down on a console.

"Get everyone who can carry a weapon forward. Block them off!"

The security chief ran from the bridge.

"Boarding parties now reported on two other carriers, my lord, as well as twenty-nine other ships."

"And the enemy fleet?"

"Still holding position, my lord. Two of their carriers have been destroyed, all the others damaged."

"Press the attack press it in!"

Prince Thrakhath looked back up at the main tactical display. Hundreds of his fighters were now circling around his carriers, nearly all of the enemy strike waves destroyed. There was nothing for them to go after, their armaments expended in the mad shooting match.

"Order all on defensive to prepare for second strike on enemy carriers."

The combat commander looked up.

"Their armaments have nearly all been expended, my lord."

Prince Thrakhath growled angrily. If he landed them and any of the carriers were destroyed by the boarders he'd lose his pilots.

"Order the fighters to hold until boarders are disposed off, then land and rearm."

He looked up at the internal security display and saw a white line tracing the enemy attack into the second level of the ship.

"I'm going to the forward launch bay," he announced coldly. "The attack to finish their fleet I'm personally leading

He started off the bridge and then paused.

"Order the cruisers to break through and finish Earth now!"

In anguish Geoff Tolwyn watched the flickering two dimensional image on the tactical display. All holo displays were now off line as was primary shielding jump engines, and port launch deck. Concordia had survived two more torpedo hits and was crippled, barely able to make twenty percent speed.

The offensive strike waves had simply disappeared into the heart of the enemy fleet. He knew some successes were made, with more than a dozen frigates, destroyers and cruisers gone. But the carriers were still intact. Whether any of the boarding parties had even gotten into the heart of the fleet was merely a guess at this point. The computers handling the hundreds of comm channels was down, as was burst signal link to Earth.

They had fought the enemy offensive strike to a stand-still. Not fifty of the enemy fighters out of the four hundred that had come in had survived. Two more of his carriers were gone, the surviving three damaged, with Lexington threatening to blow from internal fires — and there were still close to a thousand enemy fighters left along with a hundred escort ships.

But what was worse, far worse, was the cruiser squadron that at the opening of the action had flanked far out to port by more than five million clicks and was now plunging straight in towards Earth, scoops closed and up to flank speed. Not even his fastest ships could close with them now. The light picket line of a cruiser section, Earth orbital defenses and moon ground based defenses and a handful of obsolete frigates would have to stop them. It had been assumed that at least one section of enemy ships or more would go for a straight breakthrough under the screen of the fleet-to-fleet action. Earth was on its own now.

He thought for a moment of a distant ancestor of long ago, who, when contemplating the invasion and destruction of England, announced that even if England fell, the Empire, and with it the fleet, would still continue the fight.

England. No, he didn't want to think of that now.

"Get me Polowski on laser link."

The image flickered on the screen.

"Mike, they're going to come in to finish us off. We still need to keep our carriers alive. I want you to close and see what you can do to knock them off balance."

"What I've been waiting to hear," Mike replied, his voice sounding distant and strained.

"Take care, and God's speed to you, Mike."

Mike did not even reply. Seconds later Destroyer Squadron Three leaped forward into the attack.

Duke Grecko, his good arm shattered by a blast from a grenade, sat against a bulkhead wall. A lone runner came back from the point squad.

"The bastards are insane up there. At least a hundred of them charged when we hit the next deck. It was hand to hand."

The runner was panting hard.

"Your platoon?"

"Finished, sir," and she paused "I got out because Lieutenant Flory sent me back just before they overran us."

"It's all right, Marine. How long before they get here?"

"I lasered the door shut, sir. Not more than a minute or two."

Duke brought his laser up with his artificial arm at the sound of running. From around a corner a Marine appeared, gun down low, ready to fire, and relaxed at the sight of Grecko. He looked back and waved on his unit and came up to Grecko.